


A Denmark Street Carol

by SweetPemberley28



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Amends, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closure, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Forgiveness, Friendship, Ghosts, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Love, Memories, Mother-Son Relationship, Parallel Universes, Past Character Death, Regret, Second Chances, Spirits, Unrequited Love, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPemberley28/pseuds/SweetPemberley28
Summary: I wanted so much to do A Christmas Carol version for Strike fanfic, but didn't know how till a few weeks ago. A sudden burst of ideas came and wallah...this one means a lot to me as A Christmas Carol is one of my beloved stories of all time.This story takes place end of Career of Evil. The book version wraps up in July whereas the TV adaptation takes place during a colder season. For the purpose of including Strike's coat, I kept the cold setting. Other than Strike-type language, this story is for general audiences with the inclusion of happy fluff. Even though it’s not Christmas…Happy Christmas at whatever time you read this! Enjoy!
Relationships: Cormoran Strike & Leda Strike, Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Shanker & Cormoran Strike, Shanker/Alyssa Vincent
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted so much to do A Christmas Carol version for Strike fanfic, but didn't know how till a few weeks ago. A sudden burst of ideas came and wallah...this one means a lot to me as A Christmas Carol is one of my beloved stories of all time.
> 
> This story takes place end of Career of Evil. The book version wraps up in July whereas the TV adaptation takes place during a colder season. For the purpose of including Strike's coat, I kept the cold setting. Other than Strike-type language, this story is for general audiences with the inclusion of happy fluff. Even though it’s not Christmas…Happy Christmas at whatever time you read this! Enjoy!

****

**(Friday Evening - The Day Strike Caught Laing)**

Leda Strike was dead, to begin with, over sixteen years now, this is true and must be remembered or what follows may not be seen as wonderous.

Cormoran Blue Strike had been haunted by this death for just as long, however, more profound as of late when someone decided to resurrect her as a way to taunt him and his work partner, Robin Ellacott.

Donald Laing, aka the Shacklewell Ripper, had been suspected, located, and apprehended in connection to the torture and murder of several women, most of whom identified. One murder in particular that involved Strike directly was of a young girl named Kelsey Platt, who had been enamored by the London PI, the crush on whom unknowingly would lead to her demise. 

Though Leda was not amongst Laing’s victims, the memory of her was used as a psychological prop to poke the sorest and arguably most private spot within Strike. His mother, his reputation, and his business all toppled to his feet in one fell swoop. By extension, the mental warfare taxed his partner who then became Laing’s main target. 

Robin had been the unfortunate recipient of various body parts, a leg in particular, via post at the office. Soon after she was also attacked by Laing who knifed her forearm leaving a nasty wound that required stitches. Luckily, her self-defense course kicked in, literally in his groin, and she escaped with her life. Becoming his main target now, the mental warfare taxed her by extension of her senior partner.

 _Ex-partner,_ Strike corrected himself as he mentally went through the details. 

He squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut and focused on that regrettable fact. At his discretion, their partnership had ended the previous week. Blinded with rage and exhaustion from shadowboxing an unidentified murderer while tracking multiple suspects and readdressing the unresolved death of his mother, the final straw came when Robin’s defied his order by pursuing Brockbank, one of the suspects, leaving him no choice but to fire her for interfering in an ongoing investigation.

He flashed back to the return of the engagement ring, a shift reversing from what he’d felt in Barrow. The whys of human nature never much appealed to him for it was an ever-changing, unsolvable puzzle. He could waste time wondering why she stayed with Matthew, why she was marrying such a twat, but then he’d have to do his due diligence in asking the same about his choices. Charlotte was intertwined in his past more than wild ivy on an abandoned manor; on and off for just as long as his mother’s been dead.

Besides, he already knew why he was asking all the whys that didn’t settle with him either, even though it was true because that’s what he always wanted: the truth.

Lounging on the lumpy couch in a cold office only added to the aches and pains, not providing any reprieve which he believed to be rightly deserved. The radiator hissed as it fought to release any source of heat; another broken thing to add to the list but it was just him now…so it went to the bottom.

A knock at the door pinned these thoughts to the background as Strike opened his groggy eyes to a blurry office. It was still early evening yet expected no one, especially on a Friday night. He grunted as he blinked, finding Wardle had entered.

“You feel as awful as you look?” he quipped.

Strike barely grunted as he finally got up to retrieve two beers from the mini-fridge. He turned as he popped the tops, handed one to Wardle.

“Even worse than that,” Strike admitted. 

Wardle took his beer to the farting couch, it having no response to its new occupant. Strike gulped beer with one hand and rolled over Robin’s office chair to face his visitor.

“Forensics has yet to determine how many bodies have been found in Laing’s freezer. What convinced you he and Ray were the same person?”

Strike explained the framed certificate, the staged photo with sea holly, the stolen identity…

“Well, he now has a list of charges longer than a leg against him now.” Strike rolled his eyes at Wardle’s dark comparison. “Including the assault and attempted murder of your partner.”

Strike looked away and scoffed, his thumb scratched at the bottle’s label.

“How _is_ Robin?” Wardle inquired.

The solo detective shrugged, viewing her cleared desk.

“I imagine off to Masham to get married.”

“That’s not what I meant, mate.”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s your partner.”

Strike remained silent.

“She quit on you then? Finally had enough of your sparkling personality and warm bedside manner, I suppose.”

“More like I quit on her,” Strike confessed bitterly as Wardle lowered his beer to stare at him incredulously.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Strike did not answer and Wardle blew out a breath.

“Bloody hell. Sorry situation all around.” He thoughtfully drank his beer. “I liked her. She was good, full of potential. I’d kick you for it, but it looks like you’ve been doing that plenty yourself.”

Strike merely nodded and downed the beer, the taste of which did nothing to wash out the sourness or ease his trembling stomach. Wardle mentally noted this news as Robin would be a great candidate choice for the Met, as had believed since first meeting her. He also noted to check in with Strike on occasion. The grumpy, stubborn fuck had grown on him, and although  
Wardle wouldn’t admit it openly, he had learned a thing or two from the PI since they met upon reviewing the Landry case.

Needing to return to his active cases, Wardle rose – this time the couch spoke – and set the empty bottle on the desk. 

“Get some rest, mate. Things tend to be clearer on the other side.”

Without getting up, Strike watched Wardle make it to the threshold when his phone pinged. He read a message from Vanessa and then looked back at Strike.

“We got Brockbank.”

Strike nodded silently as Wardle left, rolling over to lock the door. His stomach grumbled to remind him he hadn’t eaten all day so he placed a takeaway order then stood behind Robin’s desk.

There he opened the Brockbank folder she had left accessible beside the keyboard, revealing a magazine article featuring Brittany Brockbank, the molested daughter of the man now in custody, living in an off-grid rural community. The girl pictured was no longer the little girl he remembered from his SIB days when the abusive father was under investigation. Looking back at him now was a bright young woman, smiling and forging a life amongst friends.

Not unlike Robin. Even though Robin was still finding her voice, she didn’t let that deter her from helping others. It’s what she did, who she is; she cared so very much with that heart of gold which Strike marked as a liability and punished her for it.

 _Fucking idiot,_ he grumbled at himself. 

Seeing no other recourse but to drown his sorrows, he retrieved a whiskey bottle and a glass from the kitchenette while he waited for food and checked his phone for the hundredth time that day, knowing there weren’t any missed calls or messages from her. 

One more time, he decided. He pressed her name and went straight to voicemail.

“Robin…I needed to try again…to tell you I’m sorry…I was wrong and even if I can’t fix it or go back in time…I wanted you to know that. And I want you to know how invaluable you have been to the agency…to our clients…to the Met…to…to me. You’re the most important person in my life, and I thanked you for it in the worst way possible. I hope one day you can forgive me, but you’re always welcome back to work even if you don’t…”

He released a slightly nervous chuckle. 

“I hope you’ll try again…if not here, but Wardle is a good contact…you are so very good at what you do…and it would be a damn shame for it to be wasted on a marriage to someone who doesn’t respect what you do…or even recognizes what you’ve accomplished already and what you can still do...You have a glowing recommendation from me should you need the reference…I couldn’t have done this without you, I mean that. I’m better at what I do…because of you.”

He ended the call, lowering himself into the chair and hit his forehead against the desk. Then again and again.

“Now who’s _Twat of the Year,_ ” he moaned toward the floor, his voice resonating through an empty office.

He lifted his head to pour another whiskey but stopped short at discovering a gold metal guitar pick propped upright against the bottle. 

“What the…” he spoke under his breath, reaching for it with two fingers. It was warm to the touch, smooth, and free of markings on both sides. 

“Stupid bugger.”

He flipped the pick into the bin and lowered his head once more onto the desk, closing his eyes, willing the world to stop for a moment. 

*********

The resounding bang of a bell roused him from a whiskey-induced sleep; he smacked his lips together while attempting to lift his head. Another clang had him leaning his head to the side, eyes drifting open, like wool stuck to his lids. 

The next bell chime sharpened the dull headache that had formed behind his eyes. In a daze, he winced at another ring, as if he were inside a belfry. 

_Where were those damn bells coming from?_ he wondered.

There wasn’t a church or clock close enough to rattle his nerves let alone the building. The bells continued, he vibrated in his chair and the contents on the desk tumbled over. On the twelfth chime, the bell concluded and all became silent as the grave. 

He checked the time on his watch. _Midnight._

He had slept the whole evening away! He stretched his neck side to side then forced himself upward on wobbly legs, holding onto the desk for leverage as he maneuvered to the window.  
With nothing out of sort, he yawned until his jaw cracked and scratched his belly as he shuffled towards his office, stopping abruptly. 

Against the whiskey bottle sat the gold guitar pick he had thrown away earlier. At least he _thought_ he did. He examined the pick again. 

_I’m losing my bloody marbles,_ he surmised.

He continued to his office window that overlooked Denmark Street, noting nothing of significance there either; the street and neighborhood were too quiet for a Friday night or his comfort.

The neon light that hung outside the window shorted out with a zap, leaving him in darkness. A tiny glow appeared in the window’s reflection as if a candle had been lit, expanding and shrinking as it hovered. The motion mesmerized Strike before he shook his head and turned around to it. Nothing but a dark space met his scrutiny. Scowling, he glanced around for an explanation to the sound of church bells, a floating light, and a gold pick – which he folded in between his fingers before chucking it back into the bin.

“Bugger off then.”

He needed his bed, a good night’s rest, and a few days' recovery. Before his hand grabbed the doorknob, the low sound of guitar plucking eerily caught his attention. He hobbled back to look down Denmark Street again and then returned to open the door to check the stairwell. Both without signs of movement.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” His deep voice echoed through the hall, answered only by another pluck of strings.

Gradually they produced louder and faster in tempo, the strings breaking and pinging with every pluck as if trying to play a song but was sorely out of the tune; the annoyance reaching the level of nails on a chalkboard. Drums now joined the plucking, tribal and foreboding. The building lights flickered, the air buzzed with electricity, and the walls shuddered. 

Strike limped back inside the office, slammed the door shut, which was answered by the opening of a window from an unseen force to allow a gust of wind to knock papers around, the cabinet and desk drawers opened and closed sporadically. Quickly, he backed away further into his office, locking the door to which the filing cabinets responded by opening and purging themselves of their contents, papers swirling around as the lights flashed. 

The guitar plucks continued at a high pitch, cymbals crashed at a deafening decibel, and the bass of the drum thumped in sync with Strike’s increasing heartbeat.

“What the fuck is going on?” he shouted against the noise while covering his ears as hard as he could with his hands. Panic clawed at him, reverting him to the back of the Humvee which exploded, costing him part of his leg.

His office door flew open, shattering the glass pane, flooding the room with glass shards and red light. Reactively, he grabbed the stapler and threw it, hitting nothing but the floor. The guitar plucks now amplified reminding him of all the sound checks his mother dragged him to before one of her rock-star boyfriends performed. The amp feedback screeched louder as the red light grew brighter now floating towards him. 

Recalling the baseball bat by his desk, Strike grabbed it and held firm, waiting for the moment to swing. Every muscle in his body was clenched as his lip twitched, awestruck by the unexplainable phenomenon on display. 

The red light swirled vertically, mixing with the fog that crept in from the opened windows and underneath the entrance, blurring as it circled faster to create a human-sized tornado. The wind roared as the red light morphed into a blinding hot white causing Strike to raise his arm to shield his eyes.

With a final pluck and bang of a drum, the overture faded, the wind and fog dissipated, the office contents settled, and the red light fluttered to nothing but a dark silhouette. No longer blinded, Strike lowered his arm to grip the bat, poised to swing at the supernatural intruder.

“Stay the fuck where you are or I will fucking knock your fucking head clear the fuck off!”

“Honestly,” the figure spoke exasperatedly in a familiar voice, “is that any way for you to talk to a woman, least of all me?”

Strike’s arms lowered much slower than his jaw dropped, his eyes widened in pure astonishment, and his fingers released the baseball bat so that it clinked against the floor. 

The vision before him stood in a cherry-red bustier that hugged an ample bosom underneath her favorite black leather jacket; the one she always wore and the one she was buried in. Her mahogany hair fell in waves to the curvy hips of her dark jeans that tapered down to cherry red spiked heels. Slowly, his eyes returned to the face now visible with features he’d no sooner forget than his own. Her chestnut eyes exuded playfulness and warmth, a neutral-colored mouth, stuck between a sultry pout and a coy smile.

His lungs forced him to breathe while his brain tried comprehending the existence of the woman who now stood in front of him, in the here and now.

“Mum?”


	2. Chapter 2

****

**(Same Day - Midnight)**

****

Leda Strike looked as radiant as s if she just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine and into his office. She was more stunning than he remembered, large than life that momentarily made him feel like a little boy when she held her hand out to him.

“Good to see you, son.”

He stepped backward, unblinking, looking her over. She held her jacket slightly opened and spun once.

“You like the outfit? Freddie picked it out,” she boasted with a toss of her hair. “Well, except the jacket.”

“Freddie.”

“Yeah, Mercury. Such a sweetheart. The poor boy misses his band, but he’s rocking with plenty of other legends in the meantime.”

“Freddie bloody Mercury,” Strike managed dubiously.

“I know, right? He took me under his wing the moment I arrived, although I kept at his heels until he caved. It’s been quite the bash up there, nothing on Earth compares to it. Although I’m in no hurry, I do look forward to when Buck and Eric arrive.”

Strike grasped at these two names, remembering them to be original members of the Blue Oyster Cult. Not even death could deter Leda’s obsession with her favorite band.

“Right,” Strike nodded and stared then raised a hand towards her. She mirrored his movement, their fingers grazed emitting tiny red sparks, from which he pulled away as if burned. 

“It’s ok, my Corm-man,” she soothed.

He reached for her hand again, this time clasping it without harm. He pulled her into a tight hug that nearly crushed the death from her. She did likewise, convincing him she was real, flesh and blood. 

“This can’t be real,” he hitched on a sob into her shoulder, his eyes darting across the room and to the ceiling, as she caressed a hand over his nape. “I’ve wished for it, but this can’t be real.”

His grip loosened as she pulled away to look at him, his eyes ached with grief and wonder. She rested a palm against his scruffy face.

“Why do you doubt your senses?” she questioned, pulling a gold guitar pick from behind his head, holding it before him. 

Strike leaned back to see the item he had thrown in a bin twice, unsuccessfully. He looked back at her smug look of executing a magic trick. With a deep inhale, he stepped away from her, rubbing his temples and coughing till the ache in his throat subsided. He huffed once then began to chuckle which then turned into a slow maniacal laugh that grew to a bellyaching howl. He raked his hands through his disheveled hair thinking of an explanation and then saw the whiskey bottle.

“It’s the whiskey; whiskey on top of sheer exhaustion and stress. This is a warped dream brought on by a guilty conscious and an old body that went a few rounds with a serial killer today.”

“And heartache,” Leda added.

“Heartache? How the fu—” He stopped at the flex of her eyebrow. “How the hell does that factor in?”

“Because your heart is in everything you do.” He flinched as if she discovered a vital secret, easily done with his wits scrambling about trying to fathom this encounter.

“The biscuits!” He exclaimed with the snap of fingers. “I ate a tin of tainted biscuits and now I’m hallucinating.”

“Cormoran Blue Strike, this is not a hallucination or a dream. Well, sort of a dream except this is happening.”

“Impossible.”

“Anything is possible,” she countered.

“Possibilities,” he scoffed. “Maybe at Christmas time which it isn’t and it’s the bloody 21st century where things like this just don’t happen. Digitalization ruined those, too!”

“I knew you to be a skeptic, but a cynic? Come now.”

His eyes narrowed at her statement that fell from an unfaltering smile. 

“Prove it then. Prove this isn’t a dream,” Strike demanded.

“Touch your leg.”

He did as instructed. “Still there.”

“Your _other_ leg, smartarse.”

 _Dammit._ He slowly reached to find his prosthesis attached; in dreams, he was always whole. His neck snapped up in bewilderment to find her empathetic gaze.

“I wish I could change that for you, son, but that’s not how this works. Still don’t believe it’s me?”

“Struggling a bit, yeah, but whoever you are, I’m not being dragged around the past or present beyond right now.”

“Ok. I’ll humor you by proving it but in return I expect you to have some faith in what comes after. Deal?” 

She tapped her freshly manicured red nails against his desk as he took out his cigarettes to light one. 

“Fine. Deal.”

Grinning, she stepped back and lifted her top enough to reveal the Mistress of the Salmon Salt tattoo across her belly. He examined it as close as he dared then looked away.

“Anyone can get a tattoo,” he shrugged.

She put her top back to rights and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Your birthday is November 23, 1974.”

“Google can tell you that.”

“Shanker’s first name is Stephen.”

“That may be what the police reports say but even Shanker can’t verify that to be true.”

“You’re even more stubborn than you were as a child.”

“All children are stubborn,” Strike smiled like a Cheshire cat and blinked exaggeratedly at her.

She carefully stepped to him, placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and leaned towards his ear to whisper, “I love him, darling. One day you’ll feel like that about somebody.”

He froze, forgetting the cigarette in his hand until it burned away to his fingers. Refocusing, he found Leda’s smug smile in place, very much like the one he sported regularly. 

“And I was right. That day came,” she noted softly.

Coolly he warned, “I will not relive my relationship with Charlotte.”

“Oh, darling, this isn’t about _her_ , but you know that.” Strike remained quiet as Leda rested a hand over his heart.

“Robin. She is lovely, very smart, empathetic, and complements you quite well. You are afraid, but so is she.”

He sighed, too forlorn to deny it. “Then you know she isn’t mine to have.”

“Perhaps,” she responded coyly in a dream-like state. He removed her hand from his chest without letting it go.

“ _Why_ are you here?”

“I cashed in a favor or two. Freddie pulled some strings and here I am.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Strike was losing what little patience remained.

“I know. It’s a bit complicated,” she began and paced the room.

“No shit,” he muttered, catching another maternal glance from her. “Look, if we have to start and stop every time I curse, this is going to be an even longer night after a non-stop shit show that has been the past few months, so how about you except the fucks I give and get on with it.”

She continued staring at him.

“Not like you were _mother of the year_ so spare me your offense to my language.”

Her lids lowered as she stopped pacing. Leaning against his desk, he sighed. He was hurting and now past hurts were rising to flood the quicksand of feelings he had been battling this week. 

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he whispered. 

“It’s alright. I deserve that. I neglected you and Lucy and Switch. Wasn’t the dependable sort, exposed you to things…children shouldn’t be exposed to. I only knew how to be me.”

“You had your moments; some of them were quite grand and memorable. But others…”

“…were just as bad and yet just as memorable. I wasn’t the typical mum, but I loved you like crazy, just crap at showing it properly.” She looked around the office, eyed the pictures and case info hung on the boards. “If it brings you any solace I am paying for those transgressions in death, amongst other things…” she drifted and motioned to the armchair for permission to sit.

He waved out a hand, “Be my guest.”

Once sat, she rested her hands on her knees as sadness enveloped her as she studied her son leaning against the desk with arms folded. "You are so grown up. A student turns soldier who becomes an investigator, and the progression of the man you’ve become throughout it all. I’m sorry to have missed it.”

Uncomfortable with addressing his adult life without her, he repeated his initial question.

“I know this must be a shock for you, darling, as logic doesn’t apply, but you must try to have an open mind.”

“Considering I haven’t left this building screaming since you showed up, I’d say my mind is about as opened as it’s gonna get.”

“That damn plucking on a broken guitar,” she moaned.

“Yeah, I heard it,” he offered. “Total shite.”

“Those sounds follow me wherever I go; never in tune, never a melody, always a bloody guitar. It never goes away.”

He rubbed a hand over his beard, processing her post-life punishment over his mid-life crisis for a minute.

“Can’t Freddie do something about that?”

Her eyes flashed angrily as her mouth protruded.

“No disrespect. I mean, it’s a bit overdramatic considering you’re dead. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“Death itself is a natural progression to the cycle of life. What we do in that life is what determines our penance. Besides, death is never enough payment to cover for one’s offenses, love. It certainly doesn’t provide as much rest as everyone assumes.”

“Well, that’s a bloody letdown. I will stop feeling bad about all the naps I need. So is that why you’re here? Unfinished business?” 

“It’s not my unfinished business, but yours,” she clarified.

“Mine? I just caught a killer who sought to ruin me and my business. I’m fucking owed a rest.”

“I’m referring to your personal life,” Leda enlightened. “You are at a crossroads where the next step could be the most crucial of your life.”

“Considering all the decisions I’ve made thus far along with what the universe has dealt me, I highly doubt it and I’ve survived. Come what may, I say.”

Leda stood fast, the room filled with her magnetic energy, the pulsating light from her aura, and an intensified voice.

“Listen to me! You are in danger and only you possess the power to change the course of your future. My punishment was forged by my indulgence and selfishness and poor choices. I prioritized parties and drugs and male attention over my own children’s welfare, over what truly mattered. I should’ve been around more, given you more, found a purpose…”

“It is what it is,” he pardoned, lighting another cigarette when he craved another whiskey.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m here to help you see.”

Thoughtfully, he took a long drag and blew out a slow stream of smoke.

“My eyesight is just fine; it’s my brain that needs to be scanned and studied.”

“Not with your eyes, son, that’s too obvious. Do you solve every case with just your eyes?”

He shifted, understanding her meaning.

“No, you don’t. You get a gut feeling; your heart speaks to you. Your eyes may see the pieces, but it’s the other two that help bring them together.”

“How long do you have to do all this?”

“Tonight.”

“That’s a short deadline for such an ambitious goal.”

“Time moves a bit differently for the dead, far slower than the living. So long as you’re with me, it slows down infinitely for you, too.”

She strolled closer to him as he took a final drag.

“I will show you things that have come to pass and things that are presently unfolding, so that these may bring you a future of your choosing.”

He stubbed out his cigarette lackadaisically while blowing smoke.

“So let me guess, I’m going to be visited by three spirits to show me the errors of my ways in all its fucked up glory to explain how I wound up being a one-legged, chubby, lone detective? Don’t need anyone to point out those moments as I’m well aware of them so waste of time.”

“It’s a gift, Cormoran. Accept from my death what I couldn’t give you in life. Also, there won’t be three spirits, just the one.” She points both her thumbs to herself and flashes a smile.

“A gift would be to be left alone, to have a good night’s sleep, to have a working agency…” 

“To have your partner back?”

He grumbled as he reached for another cigarette.

“You need to cut back,” she scolded as she drank the last finger of whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Christ’s sake woman, is that what this is all about…my health?”

“You’re well-being, yes.”

Leaving the cigarettes in his pocket, he held out his palms, resolved to her bidding.

“Do what you have to do then. Let’s get on with it,” Strike conceded. “Oh, wait a second.”

He retrieved his coat from the rack and buttoned-up, contemplating his mother’s outreached hands.

“Hold tight for this is going to be one wild ride.”

Heeding her warning, he took her hands, clenching as the ground shook, the world around them evaporated.


	3. Chapter 3

****

**(Previous Saturday - The Day Strike Fires Robin)**

Leda and Strike stood on a sidewalk outside a residence whose door featured a couple of boards nailed over it. The detective glanced from the door to the Blondin Street sign.

“Alyssa Vincent’s home.”

“Correct,” Leda replied. 

_“When?”_

“While you were off firing Robin, Shanker was being a bit more proactive.”

The man himself pulled up in a truck with another guy in the passenger seat. Strike recoiled out of view to hide behind a nearby car earning a boisterous laugh from his guide.

“He can’t see us, no one can; can’t hear us either. We’re just watching a replay.”

Strike rose, grimacing as his stump throbbed from the sudden movement of squatting.

“Now you tell me!”

“Sorry, Corm, I forgot that tidbit.” 

Shanker knocked on Alyssa’s door and she answered wearily, then readily alert when she recognized him. “You’ve got some bloody cheek showing up here. Haven’t you done enough?”

Shanker held out his hands and kept his voice low and calm. “I’ve come to apologize and fix the door.” He motioned behind him to the truck that carried a replacement door and tools. “Free of charge. No trouble, I promise.”

She flicked a glance up and down the street, still unsure of the situation so he offered reassurance.

“I’ve got eyes and ears about the place on the lookout for your boyfriend.”

“ _Ex_ -boyfriend.”

“All the same, he won’t be coming back around; I’ll see it that personally. How are the girls?”

“As well as can be expected,” her eyes welled up at remembering all she had learned in the past twenty-four hours. 

“That bastard will pay for what he’s done, I’ll see to that, too. Meanwhile, you and the girls will be safe with a new door and proper bolts.”

“Well, get on with it then,” she motioned with a nod, setting her fists on her hips. Shanker and his assistant unloaded the door and got to work. 

Before Alyssa withdrew she asked, “How’s your friend? Is she ok?”

“Bruised and shaken, but good knowing your young ones are out of danger.”

“Are we though? Are we ever out of danger?”

“No, but that’s just life ain’t it? Replace and move on. Be glad when someone’s looking out for ya even when you’re not expecting it.”

“That was good of him,” Strike commented.

“When I found him, he looked a little lost and battered, but good-hearted. Looks like Alyssa sees it as well.” Leda leaned against the building, smiling as the two men repaired what was broken.

“Soppy bastard still went behind my back with all this, involving my partner no less.”

“Technically she involved him, but regardless, he watched out for her.”

In a flash, Strike found his bulk taking up space in Alyssa’s living room, this time opening the door to a strange woman with unmistakable golden-red hair. Robin entered then warned Alyssa of Brockbank’s behavior, advised her to talk to her daughters. When her association with Cormoran Strike came up, Alyssa turned on her by grabbing the injured arm, yelling at her to get out. As Robin winced and repeated her warning, Brockbank returned home. 

Strike’s fists clenched and his jaw flexed when Brockbank approached Robin as Alyssa hurried upstairs to her daughters. Forgetting his lack of capability, Strike moved to shield Robin, but the suspect marched right through him, cornering his partner like a coyote to a rabbit. The detective could do nothing but watch as Brockbank grabbed Robin by the hair who then screamed out for Shanker. Within moments, help was answered as it kicked in the door, armed with a knife and ready to attack.

Robin begged Shanker not to kill him, so Brockbank released her then took off running out of the house and down the street with Shanker in pursuit. Quickly, Robin located her phone to ring the police then crossed the street where she waited for them. Strike followed while never taking his eyes off her. 

“I do admire her spirit,” Leda commented as she joined them.

“Doesn’t do you any good if it makes you do foolish things,” Strike judged as he studied Robin’s features now flushed and fearful. 

“You honestly think her a fool?”

He sighed as he considered her determination and behavior as she pushed trembling hands into her pockets and repeatedly bit her lower lip. 

“No, I don’t. She is brave and clever and resilient…just wish she would’ve…”

“What?” Leda pushed.

“…trusted me.”

The police arrived, asking Robin for a statement which she provided efficiently with succinct answers.

“Can you identify who kicked in the front door?” the male officer asked.

“I assume a neighbor,” she replied without hesitation.

“She had Shanker’s back, too,” Leda beamed. “We should check on him.” 

The street moved like a speeding conveyor belt leaving Robin and the police behind to deliver them to a random side street a few blocks away. Shanker moved at a slow pace, wheezing from the chase, and kicked a few garbage bins in frustration. He made a call, ordering some of his boys to the area.

“No one rests until this cocksucker is found. I’m not fucking ‘round so no rest till it’s done!”

He stabbed the phone with his finger to end the call then made another, this time calmer yet worried.

“Bunsen, we have a problem…”

Shanker dissolved into the night as daylight protruded, revealing the kitchen of Robin and Matthew. A commotion of voices was heard from the hallway before the door swung open. The time-traveling duo watched as a furious Past Strike entered followed by an upset Past Robin who shut the door behind them for privacy. With controlled fury, Past Strike whirled on his partner who looked held firm against the expected confrontation.

“He was raping Alyssa’s daughter,” she tediously repeated.

“We’re in the middle of an investigation! You ruled out Whittaker, I ruled out Laing, leaving only Brockbank left who is now in the wind thanks to you.”

“Do not put this on me,” she crossed her arms.

“I do,” he nodded.

“How could I stand by and do nothing? I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you had taken care of him in the first place in SIB.”

“You overstepped and we’re through. I’ll send your last paycheck on.”

Robin gasped, gutted by the outcome she didn’t even consider.

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I do that as well for gross misconduct. We’re finished. Quick and clean.”

Past Strike hurried past her to leave, avoiding how the weight of his words was now affecting her. They had knocked her head over, tumbled through her body, and disintegrated into ashes at her feet. She jolted when the front door slammed, signaling his exit from the house and her life, indefinitely.

Leda paused the moment so Strike could absorb t Robin’s expression as if witnessing an execution. He figured he would’ve hurt her less by shooting her point-blank in the heart. 

“Not so quick and clean was it, darling?” Leda asked sympathetically.

“Kept it professional to keep her safe.”

“Sure.”

“She defied me, my experience and intuition, and the process. Add to interfering with an ongoing police investigation that had them crawling further up my ass and prone to withholding help in the future. That _is_ a liability, but we could’ve gone after him together after it was all sorted. She didn’t listen and she didn’t wait.”

“It was an unfair expectation that she wait, knowing what she knew while you seemed to have brushed it off. You know her history and you insulted her with it.”  
Strike considered his mother.

“Ok, perhaps I did, but I also know how tricky sexual assault cases can be if not done properly. He got away once on my watch with the SIB, I didn’t want to fail again and her to think me incompetent!”

“Ah,” Leda feigned surprise as if learning this for the first time. 

“I’m still the goddamn senior partner with my name on the door, and it was my fucking reputation and livelihood being dragged beyond the point of no return!” She said nothing as he paced around, thinking out loud. “And if I have no business then she’s out of a job, too. Better to be unemployed than dead.”

“It’s not easy carrying the world on your shoulders alone. People make mistakes. You’ve forgiven others for a lot less.”

He immediately thought of Charlotte; how he always took her back despite the horrible things she did and said to him in private or in public, sometimes in front of family, friends, and colleagues. Robin was not Charlotte, in any way, as her intentions were honorable and not out to punish, humiliate, or degrade him. Now he felt like he was standing in a pile of ashes that consisted of Robin’s hopes and dreams, and looked regretfully at his former partner.

“I have tried calling her. Left her a few messages, apologized, begged…confessed. I fucked it all up and she won’t return my calls. Probably blocked me.”

“Well, she didn’t.”

Leda waved a hand to allow the scene to continue. Robin remained where she stood until Matthew came from behind, placing both hands on her shoulders.

“Maybe it’s for the best love,” he placated. She shrugged him off and ran upstairs. He took her phone off the table, scrolled to Strike’s name, and blocked him. 

“Goodbye, Cormoran Strike.”

He returned the phone and went after Robin. Strike grabbed the back of the chair, struggling to not throw it across the room. 

“Christ's sake, how can he just _decide_ for her? Self-righteous prick!”

He tried picking up her phone to undo the blocking, but he goes through it. After a few attempts, he scowls with annoyance towards his mother.

“Can’t toy with the past, darling. What’s done is done, these are the shadows. He is a prick but believe me when I say a well-deserved comeuppance is in his future.”

“Not good enough. He’ll still have Robin.”

Leda neither confirms nor denies it. 

“He doesn’t deserve her.”

“No, he doesn’t, but who does? It’s hard for her to consider she deserves more as she can’t see beyond the tie that binds her to him.”

Strike understands her meaning, having wondered why someone with her abilities and aptitude would remain bound to such an unsupportive, materialistic man.

“She is also figuring out what else is pulling her,” Leda suggested, but her son gave no notice, continuing his tirade.

“She doesn’t have to wind up at my door to help me save my agency or become my work partner; I just want her happy in fulfilling her purpose and dream, which goes beyond marrying that twat.”

“You always had a good heart, too, and thankfully it stayed true. But changing such a significant detail causes a domino effect to an even bigger change that can go either way – good or bad – and rarely works out in the favor of the one who made the change.”

“It’s all a crapshoot then,” he grumbled.

“Not necessarily. If it were more of a tiny, insignificant detail variety not so far in the past, that could shift things favorably for you both.”

“Like firing her?”

“That’s not a tiny, insignificant detail though, is it? Plus, it was necessary.”

“Then what, goddammit?”

“I see patience hasn’t improved over the years though.”

Strike rolled his eyes. 

“Let’s see how things might have turned out had Robin made one small adjustment.” 

Leda closed her eyes and clapped her hands together, rewinding the scene until Matthew arrived. 

“Maybe it’s for the best love,” he placated. She shrugged off his hands and gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“Best for whom, Matthew? It certainly can’t be me because I just lost the job I love, the work that fulfills me, the career I hoped to have since I finally got my chance. All because I did the right thing, and no one, not you, Strike, judge, or jury will tell me otherwise.”

Matthew scoffed. “We’re getting married next week. Try looking forward to that would ya?”

Her half-laugh unnerved him. “That’s all there is to it then. I become Mrs. Matthew Cunliffe and that’s it for me.”

“In case you have forgotten, we do share a life and it does me no good if you’re out being attacked every other night, keeping me up with worry, never knowing when you’ll turn up dead. I have to work, too”

She turned to face him, staring at him for a few moments. “It always comes down to you, doesn’t it?”

“It does affect me, Robin, and I want you to be happy, but he doesn’t want you working for him anymore. You tried and it’s not meant to be. Give it a rest and find something proper for both our sakes.”

She grabbed her phone and laptop, and went upstairs alone, leaving her fiancé behind.

Strike looked to Leda for direction.

“She needs privacy so we wait,” she instructs.

Robin had locked herself in the bedroom, chucking items in her hold all such as a notebook, pens, and toiletries. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and cried her heart out until there was no more to give. After quickly cleaning her face up, she threw clothes into a duffle bag before returning to the kitchen. There she packed snacks and bottled water into her bag.  
Strike and Leda watched as Matthew reappeared in the doorway, confused and furious.

“Are you running away again? We just bloody did this! We’re meant to be in Masham soon, Robs, to get married if you’ve forgotten.”

“Since when did getting married clear up anything for anyone before!” she retorted and stormed past him. “I need to be alone for a while.”

“This is madness. He’s still out there, Robin,” he warned as he followed her outside to the Land Rover. “You’re not safe and you know it.”

“I’m willing to take my chances with a ripper than stay here and stomach another row with you.” She hopped in the driver’s seat, roared the ancient vehicle to life, and drove away. Strike found himself in the passenger seat with his mother enjoying the bench seat behind them. 

“This is fun. Reminds me of the clunkers used for hauling band equipment from show to show. Of course, more went on inside than just storing equipment,” she smirked impishly. 

“Alright, enough, I don’t need that imagery at all let alone in a space that holds some of my happiest memories,” Strike defended evading eye contact and she relented. “So is this the what-if scenario or is this what actually happened?”

“This is what actually happened while you returned to your office to sulk with a six-pack of Doom Bar,” she clucked her tongue.

“You said interfering was forbidden.”

“I said _you_ couldn’t interfere. Aren’t you taking notes?”

Strike rubbed his forehead as he watched the houses and trees pass in a blur, happy to be Robin’s passenger in the Land Rover once more, even if he was invisible.

Leda continued. “Interfering isn’t necessarily forbidden. It’s a gray area, open to interpretation and relentlessly argued over constantly up there. But it still happens to a degree, the universe is a living entity that needs certain things to happen.”

“Like my leg being blown off?” Strike blurted.

“Some things are genuinely random or coincidental or meant to be, even the bad. Others require a push. How else can you explain what happened that day?”


	4. Chapter 4

****

(Previously - The Day of Robin’s Arrival as a Temp)

****

**  
**

Strike found himself at the bottom of the stairs to his office. As he proceeds to climb, he hears shouting from above, recognizing the voices as his and Charlotte’s during their last fight when he ended things for good.

“With every ending there is a beginning…”

He looked back at his mother then beyond to see Robin, happy and fresh, enter the building with a hop in her step and then takes the stairs. Strike unnecessarily moved aside to let her pass, catching her fragrance, feeling the wisp of her hair as she glided by. The clank of an ashtray hitting his face caused him to rub his upper lip as if feeling the pain of it in real-time. Charlotte bursts out of the office with a threat and curse, swearing that he’ll come back like he always does, breezing Robin without acknowledgment. 

“I do not like that woman,” Leda stated, shaking her head in disapproval.

Robin had barely reached the landing when Past Strike flung out of the office, pummeling into her so hard she lost her balance and began to fall down the stairs. Strike hurried to catch her, but to no avail as her head falls through them to reveal sheer panic before Past Strike yanked her up by the front of her blouse. Breathless and shaky, he holds her steady on the landing before guiding her into the office.

Strike turned to Leda. “Did you have something to do with that? Forcing pieces to interact leaving nothing up to chance?”

Leda held up her hands. “It was strictly by chance that Temporary Solutions assigned Robin to your contract. She didn’t even know she’d be working for a private investigator until she read your door. The timing was simply meant for her to show up before you could chase after that mistake on two skinny legs.”

His skepticism only faded slightly.

“It was meant to be,” she repeated. “Let’s go in and enjoy the highlight reel of your breakthrough case that was also meant to be.”

From inside Strike’s office, they watched as Past Strike listened to John Bristow’s story and watched Robin enter with a fancy coffee set and biscuits, present his business infinitely more professional than it ever looked.

In a whirl on a different day, Robin organized information and pictures for the Lula Landry case across her desk ready to impress her boss. Her knowledge of psychological terms regarding Wardle’s attitude towards the reexamining of Lula’s death piqued Past Strike’s interest which led to them both learning that the other had dropped out of Uni. Fast forward to Robin finding him drunk in the Tottenham after learning earlier that day about Charlotte Campbell marrying Jago Ross, news that arrived merely two weeks after their break-up.

“You are a very nice person,” Past Strike commented in a brief sober moment.

Next, they are at Vashti, where Robin models a lovely green dress in the dressing room.

“She is gorgeous in that dress,” Leda commented while her son looked like a love-sick pup. 

“Yeah,” his modest reply earned him an exasperated yet playful swat on the arm.

“It was thoughtful of you to purchase this as a thank-you gift for her.”

Finally, they witness the altercation between Past Strike and John Bristow, who wound up attacking him for figuring out who killed Lula. Robin showed up yet again at the perfect time when all she wanted to do was express her desire to stay on permanently.

“That’s twice she saved my life,” Strike realized.

“You returned the favor by giving her a chance as you saw something in her no one has bothered noticing since her Uni days,” Leda pointed out. “She was happy with her decision and looked forward to what else the job would bring, but then she went home…”

*********

Tired and shaken, Robin finally arrived home much later than expected. She had seen to Past Strike at the hospital, refusing to leave until he was properly looked over while she gave her full statement to Wardle. After a few stitches and painkillers, her boss was discharged. He insisted on seeing her off in a cab, but only on her condition that they shared it so she knew he’d return to the office alright. He relented and they rode in silence. 

She locked the door behind her and saw the sitting room light had been left on. There sat Matthew in his bathrobe, angry and tired.

“Why are you up –“

“You were meant to be home ages ago,” he interrupted.

“I did call and update you via text. I’m fine, by the way.”

“You expect me to believe you were out all night because of work? Bloody cover-up more like.” He glared at her with the insinuation.

“A cover-up for an affair, is that it, Matthew?”

She tossed her coat and purse onto the chair; he was jealous of every male she came in contact with, even in a professional capacity.

“Well?” he pressed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I took some time to think over a decision and when I returned to the office to discuss options, he was in the middle of being attacked. He was nearly killed.”

“Yeah right.”

“I helped save his life. If I hadn’t shown up then…” she trailed off as Matthew dismissed her explanation. “Suit yourself. Don’t believe me. You can find out from the news or tomorrow’s paper.” She walked into the hallway when Matthew called out.

“What decision then?”

She returned and stood in the doorway. “That I want to stay on permanently, learn on the job, and enjoy the work I do.”

“Seriously? Doing his filing and being his secretary at barely minimum wage?”

“That is not all I’ve done and it’s not all I will do. It’s been a very long day and I’m going to bed. We can discuss this properly later.”

She retreated upstairs while Matthew remained seated and fuming. Strike is infuriated and wants to throttle him by the neck.

“If you want me to hang for murder, mother, by all means, keep showing me these justifications,” he growled as Matthew faded into oblivion.

“It’s not meant to infuriate you, but provide insight to how hard she has tried to maintain a balance between home and work. It’s one thing to hear about it; it’s entirely another to witness it firsthand.”

*********

****

**(Previous Sunday - The Day After Robin was Fired)**

The sun rises to reveal Robin had slept on the sofa, having returned late the previous night. She had spent the majority of the day driving around London then walked or sat along the river. Matthew appeared in the doorway and addressed her lump wrapped in a blanket.

“I’m off to meet Tom and the boys for a rugby match. Best if you start the job search right away and send out applications. Could get some interviews squeezed in before we leave town.” 

She pushed herself up and wiped her eyes at the combative greeting. “Can you at least wait until I’m awake before getting on my case?”

“We barely got by with you keeping that job let alone you without one. Need to line something up soon.”

“I don’t appreciate you being pushy and insensitive about it all.”

“Twat,” Strike muttered as he and Leda sat in chairs opposite the sofa.

“Well, then get to Masham a few days early and I’ll meet you up there on Thursday if you’re not _feeling it_ here,” he sarcastically stressed with irritation and half an eye roll.

“Masham isn’t where I need to be right now, but I am going out.” She heaved herself off the sofa, but he blocked the entrance. 

“Come watch the rugby match,” he half-heartedly suggested.

“No. I have a better idea for clearing my head.”

“Where you off to then?” he demanded, but she doesn’t answer as she squeezed past him to go upstairs and shower. He leaves, slamming the door like a petulant child. 

“What an arsehole,” Leda commented, earning an agreeing nod from Strike.

*********

When Robin left the house, Leda and Strike walked with her as invisible bystanders to her travels by foot and the tube. She finds her way to Kentigern Gardens, surveying the area where Lula Landry, so young and beautiful, had lived and died. Her life was cut short by a man who supposedly cared for and loved her, but turned out to be a jealous, cold-blooded murderer of both her and their brother. She recognized Derrick Wilson who remained on duty as a security guard, approached him with a smile and a wave.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Kinda hoped I wouldn’t. That detective guy isn’t around is he?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“We haven’t had any disturbances here since…” he drifted off as he looked up towards the penthouse.

“Not here on any official capacity; just taking a trip down memory lane of my first case.” 

He nodded and said, “I certainly won’t ever forget it.”

They made small talk about his kids and current tenants. The Bestiguis moved out some time ago, rumored to be divorcing. The penthouse was owned by some artsy filmmaker while the other two floors were occupied by a young tech-savvy bachelor and a rich divorcee with three little dogs.

“Are the new cases keeping you busy?”

“Slight lull at the moment, but not for long. May apply with the Met or New Scotland Yard,” she blurted having kept that idea to herself until just now. Derrick’s eyes twinkled as his smile widened.

“They’d be lucky to have you,” he stated.

She appreciated the compliment, thinking of the satisfaction that came with a solved case, the justice that followed, having wronged a right. Although her former boss didn’t concern himself with the why of it all, it was that aspect that interested her most as it played into the psychology wheelhouse. She may not always relate but she wanted to understand; her curiosity had reignited the inner workings of the mind. One day she might strive so far as to become a Forensic Psychologist…

Where did _that_ come from? she marveled.

Drifting back to the security guard, she waved again.

“Thanks, Derrick. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

She walked on, the cogs shifting in her mind as she formulated ideas in carving out a new path for her professional life. Strike followed her at a distance with Leda strolling alongside him.

“Her insights are invaluable and Derrick is right, the Met would be lucky to have her. I’ll reach out to Wardle when I get back.”

They follow her into a quiet café where she ordered a coffee and muffin then sat in a booth, Leda slid in next to her so Strike sat across. As she sipped her coffee, Robin began a list in her notebook:  
• Return to Masham? No.  
• Return to Uni? Maybe.  
• Apply for office temp jobs? No choice in the meantime. (not with T.S.)  
• Look for a cheap flat in London? Good luck!  
• Contact Vanessa and/or Wardle for job leads at the Met: Yes.  
• More self-defense training? Definitely.  
• Therapy? Most likely.  
• Forgive Strike…

Fresh tears burned her eyes as she bit the end of her pen, but rather than retaliate from being fired and hurt, she wrote “one day” next to it. Strike read this list and looked up to see her solemn eyes when he finished.

“Oh, Robin, what have I done?”

*********

Robin returned home early evening to a frantic Matthew who jumped at her in the hallway.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“Had my phone off,” she shrugged as she entered the kitchen and sat down her purse.

“Please don’t tell me you were with him.”

“Strike? Of course, I wasn’t.” 

“He’s not your boss anymore so he’s free to go after ya without repercussions now,” he explained.

“And I’d just let him, would I?” she retorted sharply, bracing her hands at her sides while he stared on. “It’s so relieving to know that’s all you think I am in the workplace. Just kept around  
until the opportune moment comes along for a shag.”

“He’s a man, so yeah.”

She dismissed his obsessive theory and poured a glass of orange juice. “Does that mean you’re not able to work with women without wanting to shag them all? It’s one or the other, Matthew.”

He looks away then broke into a half-grin before changing the subject. “We won our rugby match.”

She swallowed the orange juice to give a dismissive “I don’t care,” then went upstairs without another word.

Leda snickered. “He lied. They actually lost.”

“Don’t care either way,” Strike retorted, looking above them, thinking only of Robin.


	5. Chapter 5

****

**(Previously - The Day Strike takes on Leonora Quine’s case)**

“You feeling alright, love? Looking a little peaky,” Leda worried over Strike, swiping her hands over his sweaty face and neck.

“Just motion sickness, I think,” he said leaning over, closing his eyes to the day-to-day of his office whizzing through time. When he could look up again, he found Leonora Quine waiting on the couch to speak with him, later decided to take her case even if it meant passing up paid work. 

“Thanks to correctly solving the Lula Landry case and having an over-qualified yet eager assistant, your business grew overnight, started to get overwhelming with you being the sole detective.”

The view slowed to meeting Matthew for the first time; conclusion, as guessed, was his being a total twat, but he played nice with mild interest for Robin’s sake. It skipped to finding Quine’s body, showing Robin the pictures, and being interrupted by Matthew’s call to report his mum has died. 

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Past Strike said.

“I did mean that,” Strike interjected.

“I know and so does she,” Leda assured. “She wanted to be there for him but didn’t want to risk not being here for you and the job. The balancing act had to include finagling and withholding some truths from both of you.”

After interviewing Daniel Chard, Past Strike learned of Robin’s professional driving skills solidifying his trust in her as a driver, a feat he’d yet overcome since losing his leg. 

“She is the best,” Strike commented, earning a look from Leda. “At driving, I mean.”

“Right.”

“Amongst other things,” he added while nodding quickly.

Now they stand outside an unfamiliar home, finding Matthew waiting for Robin as she returns from a run.

“The hired car place called about additional charges for cleaning. So that’s where you were? Being his taxi instead of here to plan mum’s funeral.” 

He left her without hearing an explanation so she followed him inside, as did Strike and Leda.

“Matt, I wasn’t being his taxi. Yes, I drove but we had to visit a key member to question for our murder case.”

“Your case? You’re just an assistant! He’s the detective so let him do the detecting. And driving for that matter. You should’ve been here with me!” he shouted, leaving her alone to consider her guilt and ambition.

The room spins forward until Robin and Matthew in their kitchen, she at the table with her laptop while he prepared dinner. After Leonora is falsely arrested for the murder of her husband, Robin had been focused on the case even more so at home, much to Matthew’s chagrin. He brings over two plates of food to set down, then just stares as Robin remains focused on her work.

“What’s so important that you can’t take a break from it so we can spend some time together?” he asked taking a bite of his dinner.

“An innocent woman is in prison for a murder she didn’t commit. We have to figure out the truth to save her and fast,” she tiredly explained while jotting down some notes.

“She’s in there already. Taking a few hours off isn’t going to change that.”

Robin’s face turned scarlet as she looked at her fiancé, now seeming to be a stranger.

“Good people don’t just stand by when they are in a position to help someone, especially an innocent person who’s imprisoned, even if that means interrupting a dinner.”

“From what I read, she did do it,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“If you’d bothered listening to me, you’d know that’s not true.”

“You don’t talk about it,” he accused.

“Why should I when you’ll only argue about it and you’ve already made an uninformed opinion? She is innocent,” Robin strongly reiterated.

“That because Cormoran Strike thinks so?”

“No, because it’s the truth and we happen to agree on it.”

This further pissed off Strike even further. “I take back my condolences about his mum,” he spits through gritted teeth.

“No, you don’t. Your reaction to his treatment of her is very strong for being just a work partner.”

“He wants to pick a fight with her over everything, but especially with her job and because of me. Like he gets off on belittling her to feel superior. He doesn’t see her as she should be seen.”

“I know it’s tough, watching someone you love stay with someone who doesn’t love them the way you could.”

"It's not love,” Strike denied then relented. “I mean, whatever it is, it’s not _that_ which hardly seems like love to me. I’d be pissed seeing anyone treated like that, but especially Robin.”

“Alright. It’s ok to be jealous…doesn’t make what you feel any less like a teenaged crush. Let’s go to the replay of my favorite part of this act.”

Leda moved her hands side to side until they were in a pub where Robin waited at the bar. Past Strike sat at a nearby table with his prosthesis removed, massaging his stump he aggravated while checking Fancourt’s perimeter.

Robin brought two beers to the table then surprised him with a Cornish-themed gift basket for his birthday. She had made her way back to London after the funeral to be there for his birthday, not just to investigate Fancourt.

“That wasn’t just to impress you, darling,” Leda cooed.

“This is a favorite of mine, too,” Strike admitted in a moment of vulnerability. He coughed and Leda pretended not to notice as she took them to a rooftop party. There they watched employees of Roper Chard mingle with guests and authors and publishers. Past Strike entered with Robin as his plus-one.

“Don’t you look dashing,” Leda sighed.

“Skip this, please,” Strike demanded as he watched his past-self placed his jacket around her shoulders.

Back on Denmark Street, they watch Past Strike offer Robin a piece of paper.

“Watch your reaction rather than hers,” Leda instructs.

“Partners yeah?” he asked with hopeful optimism.

She shot out her hand with a smile which he takes to kiss before releasing it just as fast. 

“Your face…I’ve never seen it look so happy,” Leda commented.

Past Strike disappeared inside the building missing her face burst with joy and the skip in her step as she made her way to the tube. She bustled into her house, hardly containing the excitement of her good news, and found Matthew in the kitchen.

“It’s happening! He made me partner and is paying for a surveillance course fee as part of my training,” she beamed as she speedily vocalized the development. 

“That’s the least he can do for the lousy pay I’m sure he’s keeping you at, without benefits no less,” Matthew commented dryly barely offering a glance.

“We freed an innocent woman from prison, cleared her name. She’s back home with her daughter; the real murderer was caught. That’s the reward.” Her voice had dropped from the rafters, slowly deflating. He offered nothing more as he wiped the counter. Anger now moved over her like a storm and she slammed both hands flat on the counter, getting his attention.

“Would it be too much to ask for a little support, a little optimism, or just a simple bloody congratulations? Would it kill you that much to do anything of the sort for me?”

He folded the towel and placed it on the sink, then mumbled, “Congratulations.”

“You should take a course in faking enthusiasm, Matt,” she turned and muttered lower, “I could certainly teach one.”

“Anyways,” he scoffed, “I’m off to meet Tom.” He passed her without a look or touch, leaving her yet again to feel less than. It was exhausting and she was tired of being exhausted.

Alone in the kitchen, she takes out Strike’s handwritten note, to read it again in hopes of regaining the joy she’d lost in telling Matthew about it. Now regretting doing so, she blamed herself for thinking it would make things any better between them; that his outlook towards her would change, that her being happy would legitimately become a priority. 

She poured a glass of wine then browsed her laptop for articles about the success of Leonora’s freedom thanks to the C.B. Strike Agency. Her name is only mentioned in one article when quoted by Leonora for thanking both Strike and Robin for their brilliance and effort in saving her by finding the truth. She was happy to be home with her daughter, Dodo.

“We did right by you, Leonora, and that’s what matters,” she says as she leans back to raise a glass in cheers to their client in the photograph.  
Strike stood behind her to place his hands on her shoulders even though he knows they won’t connect.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Ellacott,” he said to her shadow. “I’m sorry he doesn’t see the value in what you do, in who you are.”  
She faded from his presence until all is black.

*********

****

**(Previous Monday - 2 Days after Robin was Fired)**

Inside the home of Leonora Quine as invisible guests, two female voices float into the kitchen belonging to his former client and former partner. They pull out kitchen tables to sit and chat over a plate of biscuits and piping mugs of hot tea.

“Dodo will be sad to have missed your visit. She’s on a special day trip with her speech therapist and a few other students. Gotten a taste for independence with these outings and forbade me to tag along so here I am avoiding the housework.”

Robin pretended not to notice the amount of neglected housework and sips her tea. It’s still cozier and far more welcoming than her home with Matthew.

“I’m sorry to have stopped by unannounced, but felt compelled. Thank you for letting me intrude.”

“Never an intrusion. After all, you and Mr. Strike have done for me, my door is always open. How is he then?”

Robin’s brow raises then answers, “He is good, dealing with a rather difficult case at the moment.”

“Yeah, I keep watch on the news about it,” Leonora admitted. “I know what’s bullocks because Strike is a good man. He’s being set up! I tell that to everyone who brings it up and they look at me like I’ve got peas growing out of my ears.”

“That’s good of you, and yes, someone has gone too a lot of trouble to ruin him. Someone with plenty of time, intelligence, and rage…who hasn’t been caught yet.”

“Well, I hope you figure it out soon so you can get back to work properly.”

“I hope so, too,” Robin smiles wistfully. “I confess that I’m no longer working for Mr. Strike.”

Leonora paused thoughtfully, blinking her eyes like an owl from behind her large glasses. “I suppose not with what’s happened. Very dangerous and all with a man who murders women for sport. I’m sure Mr. Strike understands you wanting to be out of harm’s way.”

Robin didn’t correct her and drank more tea as Leonora pushed the plate of biscuits closer towards her.

“Have one, dear, you look a bit pale.”

Taking her advice, she took one and slowly nibbled.

“No matter where you are in life, I owe both of you a debt for what you’ve done for me. Hardly anyone would’ve done half as much for my family. My door is open to you both always, day or night.”

“That’s very kind of you, Leonora,” Robin said. “Know you don’t owe anything, but your friendship is most welcomed.”

“I sing your praises as much as his so use me as a reference if you like. You know where to find me.”

Robin nodded then inquired, “How have you been?”

Leonora looked around the house then down at her hands, the left still bearing a wedding band. “Good days and bad. Dodo still misses her daddy, but the day trips have helped. I manage and my neighbor is a great help. Checks on me and stays for a proper chat then goes about her business. Jerry and Daniel still reach out occasionally. Even got a letter from Fancourt. He agreed to sell the property so it’s been cleaned up and on the market. The money will help.”

“I’m sure the adjustment has been hard, being on your own and taking care of Orlando,” Robin empathized.

“Oddly enough, it wasn’t too much of an adjustment. Owen was hardly around so it was usually me anyway. Then he died and suddenly I wasn’t worried about where he was, who he was shacking up with, when he’d be home and what excuses I’d have to make on his behalf to our girl.” She traced the rim of her mug with a finger while Robin listened. “Makes me feel awful to say, no it doesn’t, not really, that it was freeing in a way. Now I just look after me and my girl, there isn’t a shadow anymore. We do miss him, but I don’t miss that shadow.”

“Some shadows are hard to outrun,” Robin shared.

“Had it not been for Dodo I don’t think we would’ve gotten on as we did. Then she showed up and we knew it would be a difficult road for her, but we made it so that I’d be here to look after her. Sometimes it felt like we were married, most of the time it didn’t. It was an arrangement that suited what needed to be done for our girl’s sake, so allowances had to be made.”

“Do you regret any of it?” Robin found herself asking.

“I’ve had time to think on it, see things for what they were. I’m sorry that Dodo misses her daddy and that he’s not around for her, but he wasn’t ever really around for me, so what’s there to miss as far as I’m concerned? Not much. Financial support to be sure, but it was always going to be a struggle whether Owen was published or not. Feel a bit easier about me, to be honest, and not so caught up in his bullshit that I lose myself every time I turn around.” 

She paused and thoughtfully looked around. 

“Did you know I was a painter? Used to do it a lot before Dodo; went to school and everything, but then we had her and knew she’d need special attention, so he kept on writing and I focused on her. He could never give me time to work on my dream what with all his writing and extracurricular activities.” Leonora took a breath and looked at Robin as if remembering her guest. “Sorry about that. Rude to burden you with the details.”

“No need to be sorry as that’s what friends do. Plus I asked. It’s not easy having anyone to unload on. Probably just as difficult as having someone but you still can’t tell them things. Seems like it needed to be said out loud and I appreciate the confidence. With me is where it stays.”

“Well, if my mistakes can help anyone, even just one, I’ll talk about them all day till I’m blue.”

_Blue_ , Robin’s mind echoes.

Leonora’s admission gave her food for thought, some of which correlated to her relationship with Matthew. Hadn’t he said plenty to snuff her dream at every chance? 

“Have you tried painting again?” she wondered.

Leonora looked away shamefully. “No, I haven’t.”

“I think you should. Time to get reacquainted with your talent and see where it takes you. If nowhere, then at least for your enjoyment and reclamation,” Robin supported. 

Leonora invited her to stay for dinner, as Dodo would be pleased to see her again. Robin accepts and her host persuades her to stay and rest while she tends to some cleaning upstairs. Making herself at home in the sitting room, Robin takes a restful nap on the couch. Later, she woke to the sound of Dodo’s arrival and the smell of dinner cooking. The two girls embrace and Dodo goes on with details of her trip to the museum and the aviary from a previous trip. 

“We should go there, Robin, cuz there are birds. We are birds, too,” she reminded.

“And we must fly together,” Robin replied warmly.

“When will the Cornish giant return? I drew him pictures.” She pulls a few drawings from her “monkey” to show Robin, and there her former partner is displayed in a child-like fashion.

“I believe he’s returned to the Cornish hills for some much-deserved rest. Don’t worry for he’ll be back soon to roam the lands and keep good people safe. They’ll pay him in biscuits and tea, which he drinks by the sea at sunset.”

“We can fly around him, in the sky and the wind, because we’re birds,” Dodo added, putting the drawings back into the secret sack.

“She doesn’t hate me,” Strike mused in relief, moved by her story.

“Of course not, darling. She respects you a great deal,” Leda observed.

“I betrayed her trust. She counted on me to believe her, to support her, and I failed…just like those had done before when she…after her attack at Uni. I wasn’t trying to dismiss her…” he stuttered.

“No, you weren’t.”

“I just wanted her safe.”

“I think she’d rather face a hundred instances of being unsafe versus one of you not trusting her. That’s how much your opinion matters to her; how much you matter to her.”

After dinner and everything was cleaned up, Robin drew some pictures with Dodo. Eventually, she checked her watch, forgetting about the time as she enjoyed herself with friends.

“I need to get going,” she admits, upsetting Dodo who wants her to stay but Leonora shushes her.

“She’s visited us all day, Dodo; it’s time for her to fly around.”

“Ok. Will you fly back around here soon?” the young girl pleaded with doe-like eyes.

“I promise,” Robin squeezed her hand. They see her out with another hug from Dodo and Leonora.

“We have a guest room should you need it,” she offered, patting her back. The generosity overwhelmed her as she pulled away, waving to the ladies in the doorway until she was out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

****

**(Previous Wednesday - 4 Days after Robin was Fired; Next Day, Head to Masham)**

The two days following her visit to Leonora and Dodo, Robin slept on the couch to distance herself from Matthew who backed off in turn by limiting contact via staying late at the office. Resolutely, she sat in her usual spot, browsing university courses on her laptop while eating toast with her tea. Fall would be upon them soon enough when she hoped to enlist by then to finish her degree, work an internship, and find an affordable place to live even if it meant finding a suitable roommate.

Out of necessity, she spent the morning submitting her CV to temp agencies, except Temporary Solutions, and other job opportunities that had nothing to do with investigative work. Losing track of time, something she had found herself doing more often since losing her job, her course research was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Matthew during his lunch hour.

She toggled her screen to the classifieds tab to hide Uni information, as he waltzed in with a newspaper in hand. Without a greeting, he laid it on top of her laptop, already to the job ads. She briefly glimpsed at it before pushing it off to continue scrolling.

“Waste of a lunch hour to come all this way just to bring me that. Currently browsing the classifieds with a more convenient method,” she informed coolly then took a sip of her warm tea.

“Look at it,” he ordered and she noticed one ad had been circled. 

**Strike Agency: Seeks secretary; punctual, discrete, and capable. Call to apply.**

Robin straightened and lifted stormy gray eyes to Matthew’s smug and triumphant expression.

“I brought this here to show you it’s over and he has no use for you. Time to move on.”

“And you just couldn’t wait to show me, could you?”

“You have to face the facts, Robs, he doesn’t want you even at the crap rate. It’s ok that you wound up not being any good at it. He’s doing you a favor.”

He picked up one of the halves of toast on her plate, devouring it while she stared blankly at his coldness.

“Look, I’m sorry it’s brought you down, but this wasn’t meant to be. Your obligations need attention, like me, for one, our wedding this weekend, for two.” Matthew reaches across the table for a napkin, wipes his hands, and stands up. Before leaving he placed an ambiguous hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

“Stay on those searches. We can look over your applications when I get home tonight.”

“Got it under control, thanks.” Robin brushed him off, waiting until he was gone before throwing up her toast, finding herself now physically repulsed by the man she was to marry in less than four days.

It was time to do something about _that._

She packed up her things to clean the table then sat again to write a short letter to Matthew, leaving her engagement ring on top of it. After straightening the sitting room to rights, she took the folded blanket and pillow upstairs and packed a suitcase. 

*********

After loading the Land Rover, she drove into London and parked it in a suitable location. Wanting space and air, she walked until she found a bench in a safe yet secluded spot by the water. Calling her mom, she mentally prepared for the many questions with which she’d supply the shortest answers.

“Hi, mum. No, I haven’t heard from Cormoran. He’s placed an ad for a secretary in the paper.”  
…  
“Yes, bullocks to him.”  
…  
“Look the wedding is off. I can’t marry Matthew.”  
…  
“Too much to discuss now, but I’m not marrying him. I can’t.”  
…  
“Yes I know family members have arrived and are en route, but I just can’t do it.”  
…  
“Yes, I know the money...I don’t know when I can pay it back, but I will somehow, someday.”  
…  
“No, I’m not coming to Masham or moving back at the moment.”  
…  
“I’m still figuring it out, Mum.”  
…  
“No, I haven’t been attacked again. Yes, I know he’s still out there.”  
…  
“I have a safe place to stay and will call you again tomorrow. Lots to do, Mum, I’m sorry, Mum. Bye.”  
She turned off her phone and shoved it to the bottom of her purse where she found the forgotten envelope of 500 quid her mother had given her a few weeks prior; the money she had offered for the utility bill, the money he had refused.

*********

Meanwhile, Strike and Leda had been walking the streets of London, his mother reminiscing her life while pointing out the changes since her heyday.

“While I’ve enjoyed your history lessons all morning, Mum, aren’t we supposed to be seeing people and events more connected to me and what I’m supposed to learn?”

“Patience, darling. Had to give Robin her privacy as the poor girl has had a morning of it. Seeing what has transpired between she and Matthew would no doubt send you over the edge.”

“If he laid a hand on her,” Strike began.

“No, he didn’t, but you know as well as I do that not all scars are physical.”

Leda peeked upward, sensing something in the air, and grabbed onto Strike’s arm.

“Now it’s time.”

Once more in his dark office, the red light of the neon sign from outside cast over a passed out Past Strike in his chair. A moment later, Robin found him, placing his big coat over him like a blanket. This roused him awake then he suddenly realized he lost track of time having slept through a date.

Taking out the envelope, she offered him the 500 quid, choosing the agency as the better investment. Without taking it, he advised her to bet on a horse instead. The scene paused on Robin as Past Strike headed to his flat upstairs.

“She chose you. Not wedding shoes or a new flat or a horse… _you_!” Leda poked a finger into his shoulder. “You weren’t alone in the trenches. She didn’t abandon you.”

“Thought I was doing her a favor. Her pay was measly enough, not gonna skin her further.”

“She gave it freely, without strings or obligation. Like you helped set her up at the Hazlitt’s for a night, she wanted to help you.”

He huffed and before he could retaliate, Leda blocked him with the palm of her hand.

“She’s not Charlotte.” 

Strike snarled at her. 

“Or your father,” she paused. “Or me.” She swallowed the difficult admission, and although her son’s snarl faded, his scowl remained with a furrowed brow.

“Where does she go now?” 

The world shifts around to place them outside an affordable yet respectable hotel in a busy neighborhood. Despite being afraid of being alone, Robin needed a respite and chose this particular hotel to stay for the night. 

Strike takes in the neighborhood and the hotel itself. “She’ll be safe here?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” With that, Strike strolled away, not caring if his mother followed or not because he was done being a part of this experiment. Leda appeared out of thin air in front of him, but he continued around her.

“Look, you’ve done your job. I made a mistake that I can’t undo so I don’t need the torment of you having me witness replays and snippets of her life. I have work to do; an agency to rebuild and yeah, eventually a new secretary.”

Leda let him go and stayed behind to ensure his partner’s safety.


	7. Chapter 7

****

**(Friday - The Day Strike Caught Laing)**

Robin finally experienced a decent night’s sound sleep, the best she’d had in months. She showered and changed, primed with refreshed spirits and energy. Bracing for impact, she turned her phone on to see several missed messages and calls from Matthew.

None from Cormoran.

While she brushed her teeth, the voicemails played on speaker, Matthew’s yells echoing off the bathroom tiles. His last one informed her that he will be staying with Tom and Sarah until his trip, aka their honeymoon. His expectation was clear in that she was to pack her things and move out before he returned.

“Thanks for embarrassing me in front of our families and friends, Robin. This is how you repay me after all I’ve done for you? All because your boss dumped you. Have a nice life.”  
His being away a few weeks lessened the worry of finding another place to live without a job, buying her time. Still, she wasn’t ready to return to their shared dwelling, to be alone in a place the unidentified killer knew all too well, having struck there once while she was away in Barrow. She had already risked one night, but couldn’t another, so she decided to take up the offer from a reconnected friend.

Before that, she had a special errand to run.

*********

By afternoon, Robin returned to Leonora’s, who was all too happy to see her again. Dodo was beside herself, taking her friend by the hand and into the kitchen where they were making sandwiches for lunch, adding one for their guest. 

“I’ll be right back, left something in the Land Rover.”

“I have something for you and Dodo,” Robin stated carrying a large plastic bag and a blank canvas which she handed to Leonora then let Dodo take out the contents. A beginner’s paint set for Leonora and a sketch pad with colored pencils for Dodo.

“As a thank you for your hospitality and friendship,” Robin said. Leonora waved her hand and smiled.

“Our lot has to stick together; help each other when one falls. You are a sweet girl.”

They enjoyed sandwiches, chips, and lemonade. The food was tasteful and the company nourishing, but Robin remained emotionally drained. Leonora showed her the guest room then left her to settle her things. Dodo asked to watch a movie together so Robin promised to be right back down for it.

As she set down her purse and hold-all on the bed, her phone rang, Strike’s name flashed. Not ready to answer, not ready to know why, she let him go to voicemail. Whatever it was could wait as jumping at his call would make her feel and look pathetic and desperate. 

Returning downstairs to find Dodo ready, the movie began and they curled up on opposite sides of the couch. The opening credits had finished just as the two fell asleep. Later, she awoke to find herself alone on the couch, seeing a note next to her from Leonora that they’d be back shortly. She moseyed upstairs for her laptop and notebook and noticed her phone had another missed call from Strike, time-stamped less than an hour after the first one. It came with a second message which she ignored a second time.

She made tea and browsed the job ads until her hosts returned with some groceries. Robin hurried to assist.

“Hope the sleep did you some good, dear. You were out cold so I told the neighbor to keep an eye out. We got a few things for a special dinner,” Leonora explained.

“Special dinner for our special friend,” Dodo smiled proudly.

“Thanks, Orlando, that’s very thoughtful. What can I do to help?”

They unpacked the bags while Leonora set a pot to boil rice. Dodo drew in her new sketch pad with the new colored pencils while Robin cut up vegetables for a chicken stir-fry, a self-proclaimed specialty.

“Dodo, turn on the news, please. I like to catch up when I cook,” she pushed her glasses back up her nose and listened as the news reporter discussed breaking news.

“After months without leads, the Shacklewell Ripper has been caught…” 

Robin dropped the knife and turned to face the small TV on the counter. Cormoran’s profile was unmistakable in the distance as he talked to the police. A picture of Donald Laing hung in the corner as the reporter broke down what they had learned so far, mentioning the body parts of several victims being found in his apartment. Leonora leaned in for a closer look.

“He caught him,” Robin whispered. “Cormoran did it.”

“Of course he did! Wouldn’t stop until he did,” Leonora cheered and patted Robin’s shoulder as tears tumbled out. Leonora pulled her in for a side hug.

“That monster isn’t gonna hurt anyone anymore, least of all you. Cormoran is a good man, bless his soul.”

The news flashed a picture of Cormoran Strike of the C.B. Strike Agency, clearing his name of all allegations. 

_He was in the clear,_ Robin thought with relief. _His business would survive, as would he after facing off a serial killer._

Dodo came up from behind Robin and hugged her, then looked at her face to see she was crying. “Robin, are you sad?”

Robin offered a watery smile, “Not sad, Dodo. Very happy indeed. Cormoran is in the clear now. Bloody brilliant!”

“Yes, he is,” Leonora sighed. “Told ya he’d figure it out.” She gave a slight elbow poke to Robin who nervously giggled.

They held onto each other until the report ended then returned to making dinner.

*********

After dinner, Robin excused herself to go upstairs and locked the door before playing the voicemails left on her phone, now three in total.

Strike’s first message:

***panting* We got him, Ellacott. *pants* Laing. It’s done. *long exhale* You’re safe, Robin. You’re safe. *he inhales then hangs up***

Strike’s second message:

**Robin. Finishing with my statement to the police. Laing’s going away forever. Wouldn’t have found him without you. I just wanted you to know so you don’t have to worry about him. Hope this brings you comfort…*deep sigh, starts to say something but hangs up instead***

Strike’s third message played causing her to bring a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with happy tears once more.

*********

Leda found Strike at White Chapel Cemetery, sitting in front of her grave as he had done countless times since burying her. Quietly, she perched next to him.

“Sea holly…I do miss Cornwall and the sea, it may not have been exciting, but I still miss it.”

“I don’t visit there as often as I should,” he grumbled. “Something else I need to get better at making time for.”

“I like it when you visit me. Stephen comes often on his own. Even Robin.”

“Robin?” he was baffled.

“Yes, but not until after learning my death was being used against you by a murderer. I think she first did it for insight, but then out of concern for you, to understand you better. Something she can’t do with you directly as she didn’t want to tread on your privacy even to show support.”

“This is one way to get around that. I don’t make it easy for anyone, even her,” he mused.

She stood up and held out her hand. “I don’t have all the answers for you, darling, but I can show you one that will amuse and surprise you.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, he took her hand, leaving the cemetery behind.

*********

****

**(Earlier that Day - Immediately after Strike caught Laing)**

Once Laing was secured by Strike, Shanker had gone scarce to avoid the police. He went straight to Alyssa’s neighborhood having received a tip to Brockbank’s location which was an abandoned school building.

Four of his associates waited outside the building until his arrival, then two accompanied him inside while the other two kept a lookout. They found Brockbank sniveling in a corner, having been knocked about by the same associates as they’d been instructed. 

“Look what we got here, a scared little rabbit. No fun being the prey is it, arsehole?”

Shanker grabbed him by his collar to kick and punch until the pedophile lay in a bloody heap at his boots. He was dragged outside and tied to rusty monkey bars, stripped with his pants hanging around his ankles. Shanker told his boys to scatter then used a burner phone to call the police, providing an anonymous tip to the whereabouts of Noel Brockbank. 

“Well, fuck me,” Strike commented as he and Leda watched the scene unfold

“Stephen may be many things, but even as a criminal he has a code.”

“Whatever he does, he’s my friend,” he shrugged. “That will always be considered first. Usually.”

“That kind of bond doesn’t get broken with one mistake,” Leda reminded.

“Depends on the mistake,” Strike countered.

“Forgiveness, Cormoran. Try it. By the way, how did he get that nickname?"

Strike's face broke into a wide grin. "I have absolutely no idea."

Shanker watched from a safe distance as a police car and an ambulance pulled up to release the unconscious Brockbank from the ties then strapped him to the gurney, including handcuffs. Once the coast was clear, he hotwired a nearby car and returned to his place of business, The Pour Luck Club. 

*********

With Laing and Brockbank both caught, Leda returned Strike to his office where his present self was still asleep at Robin’s desk, not yet woken by sounds and spirits.

“What if you changed nothing, not even something singular and insignificant, what would happen?” he speculated.

“If left unaltered, she would go through with the marriage, believing it to be the only thing she has going for her…that it is her sole purpose and nothing more…she’d only learn of Matthew’s betrayal too late, realizing she married a man she doesn’t love, who will berate her further by committing adultery, father her two children whom he barely spends time with because he’s too busy working and out impressing co-workers and clients…and her talents and intelligence will go to waste, her spirit withered and broken. But she will think of you and all she lost here, including herself, often; that regret will haunt her forever.”

“Jesus. I thought you were supposed to make me feel better with reflections not take away my last shred of hope with worst-case scenarios. Next you’ll be telling me I do go back to Charlotte for another few rounds on that sick carousel.”

“Don’t be daft. I’m here because you’re one of the good ones, seeking truth and justice and balance. You were always good and don’t need to be punished. Your choices are still yours, the path just needed more light.”

“By my count, we’ve reviewed the past and watched the present…so what of the future? When do we venture there?”

She pressed the palm of her hand to his heart once more. “We don’t for that story can only be written by you. The power is yours once you awake. I will return you to your sleep, undisturbed…”

“I won’t forget you, will I?” he asked fretfully.

“No, darling, you won’t. We made real memories and I had a wonderful time making them with you,” Leda assured, combing his hair with her fingers.

“I’m not ready to say good-bye yet…not again,” he confessed. 

The guitar plucking began from a distance, but both heard it. _Time was up._

“Can you believe I have a curfew?”

Strike offered a faint smile, emotion clenched his throat as the guitar plucks grew louder, a drumbeat now joined it.

“Cormoran, you have lived in the past for my sake for far too long. I want you to live your life for you. Don’t be afraid to take chances on people especially the ones you love and those who love you. Learn to forgive yourself.” 

“I don’t know how to fix any of it.”

“Figuring it out is what you do best and you have a chance to make it right. It’s too late for me and I can’t go back. I didn’t even live long enough to learn let alone make amends.”

A question formed on his tongue, one he’d been holding onto since her arrival. 

“What happened to you that night? I have to know…did _he_ do it?” Her face falls into neutrality, a cold sweeps across them both. 

“I can’t tell you how I died; it’s one of the forbidden rules.” The guitar plucks quickened, the drumbeat deepened enough for him to feel it in his chest.

“Then I’ll guess and you can nod an answer.”

Her features disappeared leaving a blank slate for a face, but her voice was still heard.

“Darling, even if I could, I wouldn’t. For if I say no, you’ll drive yourself mad in search of the truth. If I say yes, you’ll drive yourself mad seeking justice, which won’t turn out the way you want as it will never be enough.”

Strike tried to argue, but he knew in his heart that she was right. Her features reappeared, a smile in place beneath misty eyes.

“You must let it go, but you can still visit me in White Chapel. I’ve enjoyed our conversations over the years.” She winked and kissed his cheek, warming him throughout. His eyes remain on hers as she backed away.

“I love you, darling,” she whispered. The vision of her dimmed into a swirl of red and white light that flashed like a strobe. His eyes fluttered against the brightness and incoming wind until both vanished. Leda was gone.

“I love you, too, Mum,” his words hitched on a sob without taking his eyes off where his mother had stood.


	8. Chapter 8

****

**(Return to Friday, early evening – The Day Strike caught Laing)**

Strike startled awake with a deep breath, bolting upright from a dream-like state that made him woozy. He checked his watch to learn barely an hour had gone by in reality. Reorienting himself, he rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. The room remained cold, but he felt uncommonly warm.

The office was as neat and tidy as always, with no sign of disturbance. Finally, he stood to search the office despite knowing he would not find his most extraordinary visitor. Outside the window, he saw Denmark Street bustling as normal, people heading home from work or out to kick off the weekend.

Stepping away from the window, the whiskey bottle glinted, and there next to it the gold guitar pick. Now it featured a cherry-red heart emblazoned in the middle with the initials L.S. engraved. He held it tightly, the warmth of her memory contained within. 

Realization dawned as time ticked on and there wasn’t a moment to lose. Amends needed to be made so he began with what he believed to be the easier one. He pressed a name on his phone and brought it to his ear. It rang twice before being picked up.

“Ringing me to tell me off again, eh, Bunsen,” the familiar voice rasped in greeting.

“Nope. Just called to say thanks.”

“Thanks? Had a few already then,” Shanker teased.

“Possibly, but thanks are still in order.”

“Ok sure. Yeah, alright, you’re welcome.”

“Question for ya, mate,” Strike squeezed an eye shut. “Is your real name Stephen?”

Shanker laughed into the phone, highly amused but evaded it with a question of his. “You talk to Robs yet?”

“No, working on how to best sort that out.”

“Well, idiot, ring her up and apologize then say thanks. Just do what you did me except add groveling.”

“Always simpler said than done.”

“Yeah, but that’s just life now ain’t it. Piss off and call the girl. I’ve got work to do.”

The phone clicked off before Strike could say another word. He no sooner sat his phone down before it rang, Robin’s name flashed across the screen. Taking a deep breath, he answered on the third ring.

“Robin.” He heard her breathing and waited.

“Are you ok?” She managed as she bit her lip to keep her voice steady. Her concern for his well-being gave him hope and caused a faint smile.

“I still only got the one leg, but other than that, yeah, I’m ok.” The joke alleviated the tension and she gave a soft chuckle, but he detected a thickness in her voice. 

“Cormoran,” she paused with uncertainty. “Did you mean it?”

His brow rose, not sure to which blathering of his to which she referred. “To my returning to work,” she clarified.

“Absolutely. Come back, please. I want you back.”

“Good. I was afraid with the ad and all…” she trailed off, looking away.

“Diversion tactic, I promise, to make the killer believe you were out of the equation so you would be safe.”

“Oh, right. Matthew was convinced…nevermind. Well, I’m more than ready to get back to work. But I want a contract.”

“Done,” he replied without hesitation. “You don’t have to start until Monday though.”

“Ah,” she didn’t know how to explain and he didn’t mean to assume.

“Oh, right, nevermind…wedding…honeymoon…start when you get back obviously. Sorry.”

The hope he had felt was tethered to a balloon that now floated away.

“Well, about that…” she cleared her throat. A gentle knock came at the door, causing a soft curse from Strike, who hurried up to stop the interruption.

“Bloody timing. There’s someone at the door, let me tell them to bugger off and…” He opened the door to find Robin standing there, the phone still to her ear. “…Robin.”

“Do you want me to bugger off then?” she teased mildly, lowering the phone and placing it in her pocket.

“No, no, of course not.” He grinned like a schoolboy at this surprise, but he couldn’t move. 

“Oh, Cormoran, your face,” her brow creased in worry as she looked him over: the taped ear, his black eyes, and the bloody scrapes across his cheeks.

“Looks worse than it feels.” She caught sight of his bandaged arm and hand. “That does bloody hurt. Didn’t break anything though.”

“I can’t believe you went after him like that. I mean, I can, it’s just…that was very brave to risk yourself like that.”

“Well, I took a page out of your book. It’s what we do, right?” Her lips pursed and she looked away, fearing a fresh wave of tears. His stomach growled as he caught sight of a takeaway next to her hold-all. “Is that my takeaway by chance?”

Robin giggled instead of crying, “Depends. Do you have enough to share?”

Strike’s eyes crinkled as he replied. “As it just so happens Ms. Ellacott, today is extra spring roll day.”

“You most certainly have earned it.” She picked up both bags, handing the takeaway to Strike as he held the door open for her then followed behind.

“Um, I thought you’d be in Masham by now,” he commented as he set the takeaway down on the counter. In her usual fashion, Robin approached to unpack it while Strike turned on the kettle.

“That was the plan, but I retraced some steps and reevaluated. No matter how I arrived at it the conclusion was always the same. Marrying Matthew would’ve been the end to any chance I have at who I want to be and what I want to do with my life.”

“As long as it’s your choice, I’m happy for you,” he assured.

They took their loaded plates and mugs of tea to her desk. Strike rolled his office chair to sit across from her. So much had happened yet it felt like nothing did. Her journey with Matthew, his with his mother; so many insights and things left unspoken, the future unwritten. For the present, he was content sharing beef and noodles and spring rolls and tea, sensing a renewal of their friendship. After stuffing themselves full and cleaning up, Robin turned from the kitchen to find Strike putting away a folder at her desk before perching on the edge of it.

“I listened to your messages,” she blurted. “All of them.”

They stared at one another longingly, neither knowing where to begin nor if they were traveling in the same direction.

“Did you mean all of that, too?”

“I meant everything I said,” he admitted, holding out his hands, having nothing to hide. She tilted her head at him in curiosity.

“It’s crazy, I’m sure, and your job here is not dependent upon your response. I am sorry for firing you, Robin. As hard as it was it seemed right at the time. I hope you can forgive me, at least still be able to work with me until you can. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He looked deep into her eyes, his voice softened. “You don’t need eyes to see it though, do you, Ellacott?”

She was in his arms before he knew it, nearly knocking the wind out of him as her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers curling into his collar. His bear-like arms surrounded her, as he breathed in her hair, resting his chin in the crook of her neck, molding her to his body. 

“I do see it. I see things so differently now, feel things I didn’t think were possible,” she sniffled as she gave a watery response.

He sighed against her and looked above. “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean.”

She leaned back to study his face, the worry lines, the bruises, the weariness. The chiseled face she now found so irresistible and alluring. Her fingers moved upward to caress his nape, his breathing slowed as he gazed upon her lips, the curve of her jaw, and the cream of her neck…and waited. As she moved her face closer to his, the faint smells of whiskey, smoke, and noodles mixed with something earthy yet clean, like a snowcap in the middle of the woods. Her lips touched his, pressing softly and momentarily, before resting her head against his.

“You must be tired.”

“Feeling infinitely better now, thanks to you,” he gently nuzzled his nose against hers then inclined back. “There is someplace special I’d like us to visit tomorrow if you’re free that is.”

“As it so happens, I managed to get out of attending this wedding thing,” Robin waved her naked left hand as if it weren’t a big deal. “So yes, I am free. Where is it?”

“It’s a surprise. Any chance we could take the Land Rover?”

Robin flashed a smile and said, “What time shall I pick you up?”

“How about 9? We can dub it the Making Amends Tour,” he suggested. 

“Will there be some confessions thrown in for good measure?” she asked playfully.

“Can’t have one without the other.”

“Ok. I want to hear all about what happened today if you’re up for it.”

“I was waiting for you to ask. Sure beats explaining the migratory pattern of the Black Marlin which I’ll gladly do if you want to know.”

Robin laughed and cupped his face with her hand. “There’s always time. Would it be all right if I kissed you again?”

He took her hand and kissed the inside of it. “That, Ellacott, is more than all right.”

She leaned in, this time Strike closed the gap and took. Their mouths fused for a moment before hers opened slightly, the kiss deepened with the welcoming. His hands had moved up her shoulders to tangle in her hair, releasing more of its floral scent that had invaded his senses from day one. Her arms tightened around his neck and he felt every softness of hers press into the sturdiness of him, every corner of her mouth tasted. Once breathless, their mouths parted, and she viewed him with hazy blue-gray irises.

“I should go, but I’ll be back in the morning.” Reluctantly, she left his arms and picked up her hold-all. “Thanks for dinner, Cormoran. And everything, really.” 

“Robin,” Strike moved, ready to open the door for her. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“Oh.”

Strike realized how it sounded and backed up. “No, I didn’t mean…I wasn’t meaning that you stay here with me…not that I’d mind and nothing would have to happen, but I meant, I can ask Ilsa to set you up in their guest room for a while?”

“Maybe in a few weeks if I can’t find something, but for now I’ll have the flat to myself. Matthew is staying at Tom and Sarah’s till he leaves for the honeymoon. He wouldn’t dare let that expense go to waste. _I’ve cost him a great deal_ ,” she mocked and shrugged. “In return, it buys me some time to sort things.”

“Will you be ok alone?” he grasped for the right wording after all she’d be through with being attacked by both Brockbank and Laing without being possessive. 

“I’m going to have to learn somehow,” she admitted, “but I think I’m ready.”

“Call me any time, I will answer, and if you need me there, I’ll hurry over even if it’s to sleep on the porch just to make sure you’re ok.”

“You really would, wouldn’t you, Cormoran?” She pressed her fingers to her lips at the sweetness of his offer.

“Whatever you need, Robin,” he assured gently.

“Please get some rest and drink plenty of water. Tend to those wounds so they heal properly.”

He hadn’t realized how much he depended on her looking out for him until she gave him instructions.

“I will if you do,” he said eyeing her injured arm although he doubted he’d get much sleep with the anticipation of spending the next day with her keeping him awake.

“Deal.”

He walked her down the stairs and saw her safely tucked inside the taxi, not returning inside till it was out of sight.


	9. Chapter 9

****

**(Saturday - The Day After…)**

As promised, Robin pulled up to the office building right before 9, Strike already waiting for her on the sidewalk as he finished a cigarette. He hopped into the passenger seat, greeted her with a warm smile, and in turn, she leaned over to kiss his cheek then handed him a takeaway coffee.

“Hiya,” she said as he settled in. Looking behind them he saw the stockpile of goodies on the seat: tea thermoses, chips, biscuits, sausage rolls, and several sandwiches.

“I couldn’t sleep so I made a bunch of food. Not gonna let a full fridge spoil just cuz I’m on my own.” She caught Strike’s amusement and adoration as he recalled their late-night phone conversation.

“So that’s what I was hearing in the background.”

“I didn’t want to give away that I was doing a domestic activity even though it’s been a long time since I enjoyed one.” He pictured her in the kitchenette preparing their road trip goodies while they swapped fond memories of their childhoods in Masham and Cornwall during a late-night call as she’d been unable to sleep as well. “Plus, since I don’t know where we’re going, I wasn’t sure how much to pack so I overprepared.”

“Ellacott, you are always the right amount of preparation. Thank you for this.” He squeezed her hand then reached back for a sausage roll.

“It’s what I do,” she beamed. It seemed the road to forgiveness laid before them. 

“And thanks to Shanker for keeping watch,” she pursed her lips to prevent a smile.

“How’d you know?” 

“I caught sight of his hands above the bushes when he stretched. Then I brought him out a coffee and bid him good morning.”

She laughed when Strike winced. “He’s gone amateur. Even with Laing caught, I just wanted you to feel safe. I’m sorry if that was out of bounds,” he apologized. 

“I don’t mind under these circumstances,” Robin admitted. “I think I knew he was out there which did make me feel safer.”

“But you still couldn’t sleep,” Strike said guiltily.

“Only because I was thinking of you,” she confided before starting the engine once more.

Strike said nothing beyond the smug grin on his face and the flop in his belly as he mounted his phone once the GPS was set with their coordinates to a place less than two hours outside of London. Robin shifted the Land Rover into gear and so began the official start of the Making Amends Tour featuring Strike & Ellacott.

*********

During the drive, Strike explained how he figured the killer was Laing from the stolen identity and the sea holly. He spared the details on all that was found in his freezer, assuring her he was going away for good this time.

“Brockbank was found and arrested yesterday, too,” he informed. Robin kept her eyes on the road, saying nothing. Strike continued while looking out his window. “The Met received an anonymous tip and found him in a compromising position. He’ll be going away for a long time, too.”

He looked at Robin’s profile and saw her tear up. “Christ, Robin, I’m sorry,” he blathered.

“No, it’s a good thing. I’m glad you told me.”

“Maybe I should’ve waited, but it connects with where we’re heading, and I didn’t want to sideswipe you with it.” He checked the GPS. “Almost there.”

“So anonymous tip…surely not Alyssa,” she deduced. Strike shook his head.

“Shanker.” She gasped in surprise. “But don’t say a word because he doesn’t know that I know.”

“How did _you_ find out?”

He just grinned and said, “Because I’m a detective.”

Robin wrinkled her nose. “One day you’ll tell me.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, Robin slowly drove through a densely wooded area and pulled alongside a camping area. They exit the Land Rover and a male camper soon approached them. 

“We’re friends of Brittany,” Strike informed.

After eyeing them a moment, the male camper said, “Follow me.”

They followed the man to a young woman with long auburn hair and a familiar face. A surprised Robin moves closer to her. “Brittany Brockbank?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Brittany’s eyes move from Robin’s to Strike in surprised recognition. “I remember you. Not your name except that it was a bit unusual.”

“Cormoran Strike,” Strike reminded warmly. “This is my partner, Robin Ellacott.”

Brittany remains reserved, but welcoming and shakes the hand his partner offered. “What brings you out here?”

“You,” Strike said simply. “Robin can explain it best.” He stepped back so Robin could lead, explaining their presence as Brittany listened intently. Robin was explicit only when necessary, ending the story with Brockbank’s arrest.

“And this was part of a case you were working on?” Brittany inquired.

“He was a person of interest with what we were investigating,” Robin glanced back at Strike who nodded.

“Although it seemed he was not directly linked, she discovered his whereabouts and pursued him,” Strike continued.

“You went after him anyway,” Brittany concluded looking at Robin.

“Yes.”

“Without knowing me or those other girls,” she added.

“Monsters come in all forms; we need to look out for one another. It should be a way of life, like what you’ve built here. I believe it is our purpose.” Robin emphasized the last sentence with eyes on Strike.

“We failed you back then, Brittany,” he admitted looking into the trees then corrected as he looked back at her. “ _I_ failed you.”

Her eyes drifted to the ground. “You believed me and that meant a lot.”

“He should’ve been put away a long time ago.”

“But now he will be,” she believed optimistically.

“Yes, and if he ever gets out, he’ll be put on the sex offenders list, properly,” Strike explained. The three ambled together in silence for a few moments until they stood next to the Land Rover.

“Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.”

“We wanted you to know before finding out…other ways,” Strike explained as if protecting a sister.

“If you ever need anything or just want to chat, you can reach either of us here,” Robin pulled out a business card and wrote her number on the back of it. “And this is me directly.” 

Brittany took the card and placed it inside her jacket pocket, close to her heart. Without a word, she reached and hugged Robin tightly around the neck then moved to Strike wrapping her arms around his waist for a quick embrace. She shyly smiled at them both before returning to her friends.


	10. Chapter 10

****

**(Continued…A New Beginning)**

After leaving Brittany’s secluded commune in the woods, Robin drove along till she spotted an overlook along the main road, perfect for a picnic. They both unloaded the goodies from the back seat and set them on the blanket that Robin had smoothed out on the ground. It was a grassy area that provided a spectacular panoramic view of the lush green forest that stretched out in front of them for miles. The air was clean and fresh, the colors of nature bright and vivid. Everything seemed newer and brighter to Strike.

Slowly they nibbled (well, Strike slowed as much as he could) their sandwiches and chips in comfortable silence, enjoying the beautiful day, despite the chill. Both were fully in the present, enjoying that most precious gift of time which they consciously shared as if the only two people left on earth.

With the food demolished, they sipped tea and relaxed; her eyes closed to the sun while Strike studied her profile. The sun reflected off her golden-red hair, the blue sky accentuated her eyes of a similar shade, the dusted freckles on her cheeks became more prominent in the light. 

“How funny it is for things to become so clear after the universe spins you about a few times,” she mused.

“The universe does have a bloody twisted sense of humor,” he agreed, wondering if he would ever be able to tell her what transpired the night before. “That’s what keeps us employed though; that and the adulterers.”

Robin laughed, opening her eyes to look at him. “It’s the commercial parts that pay for the real art, I suppose.”

“So what’s our next step with the agency you think?”

“We rebuild,” she stated with certainty, having already given it a great deal of thought. “Together.”

“As partners,” he reaffirmed, taking her hand, and then placed a kiss on the back of it, sealing the deal as he’d done before. He tried to let go but she held on.

“Partners,” she repeated. “Never had a partnership in work before you, or in life, I’ve realized…until you.”

Their eyes remained locked, her thumb caressed his knuckles. Everything about him seemed to come to life for her now, building the attraction she refused to acknowledge. The bend in his nose, the scar above his lip, the trim of his beard, the angle of his jaw, the muss of his hair…and now the look of trust, respect, and love that emanated from him so fully and completely. A look she was now free to return, unbounded and independent of the life that had shackled her before. But one doubt remained.

“I worry about the agency and how what’s between us will affect that, and I know you do as well,” she shared.

“I did, but the agency went to shit, twice now, and it revived the day you showed up and will survive again with you as my partner. It can only get better if it’s you and I all the way, right? And if it doesn’t, I’d rather find out than always wonder. I don’t want to regret anything when it comes to you. Work or not, I’m in love with you and I want to be the man I am when I’m with you.”

“Cormoran, is this possible?”

“I’ve come to believe that anything is possible especially when we look out for each other, trusting explicitly.”

Tears fell to her cheeks. “I’m sorry I went behind your back to go after Brockbank. I should’ve trusted you more.”

Strike looked back in the direction of Brittany’s home in the woods. “That young lady has closure now because of you. Those two little girls are safer because of you. I should’ve trusted you, better yet I should’ve been with you. Instead, I let my ego get in the way to salvage my pride.”

“Pride?” Robin pressed.

“You took him back,” he said sharper than he intended, but he hated admitting it. 

“So you were just mad at me for going back to Matthew?”

“More so disappointed and confused than mad,” he admitted truthfully. “Especially after Barrow.”

“Barrow,” she repeated. She replayed the trip in her mind, the little moments between them that felt closer and connected and intimate, but she had convinced herself it was just vulnerability getting the better of her from the upheaval of her relationship with Matthew. “I didn’t imagine it.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“Nothing was said…you didn’t…” she stammered.

“It was not my place to make the first move as it would have been taking advantage of you no matter how well-intended my approach would be.”

“Yes, yes you’re right. It was up to me.”

“Then I was going to say something when I stopped by to check the locks on your gate but saw the ring back on your finger, and well, that shattered my resolve.”

“Cormoran, I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry for that,” she blubbered.

“Hey now, you don’t need to be sorry for any of that. You didn’t know and how could you? Would’ve gone to the grave with me.”

“We’ll get through this. I only ask for patience and time,” she worked to meet his eyes. 

“It’s yours, all of it,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to bugger off.” 

They laughed and she beamed at him, rendering him breathless.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Her eyes fluttered down to watch him bring their joined hands to his heart. “I have ever seen,” he repeated softly, his jaw setting against emotion. 

Her eyes moved from their joined hands up to his face. “In response to your last message…I love you, too, Cormoran Blue Strike.”

She leaned towards him and he met her halfway, brushing their lips gently together, pressing into a soft, tender kiss. When they parted, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. She placed a hand over his heart and breathed easier than she had in her whole adult life.

“Can we stay here a little while?” she hoped. 

“We can stay as long as you like, love.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes, and remained lost in the moment, committing it to memory.

His eyes opened at the faint sound of a guitar plucking, but this time a pleasant melody played, more haunting than menacing, more beautiful than heartbreaking. 

In the distance, he found Leda standing in the middle of the road, smiling with her hands clasped against her lips. The fingers of his hand lifted from Robin’s shoulder to wave in salute. She kissed her fingers and blew the kiss his way before placing them over her heart. A portal of white light appeared behind, so she turned and stepped inside, another grand exit.

Strike sighed in relief, knowing his mother was at peace. He had the woman he loved in his arms who was also his brave, fierce, and intelligent partner. He had a better sense of his place in the world that included an appreciation for what’s beside him, but what waited for him. 

Robin’s hand flattened against his chest, feeling an object in his breast pocket. Leaning over, she reached in to retrieve it and pulled out a gold guitar pick with a red heart in the middle of it.

“Are you learning guitar now?” she teased. 

He held her hand with the pick and smiled mischievously. “One day, I’ll tell you the unbelievable story of how I came across this particular token...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For 2021, I will now accept the wedding really did happen, Robin stuck with Matthew, Strike added another short-term girlfriend to the roster, and both Lethal White and Troubled Blood followed verbatim. Tough pill to swallow, but here’s looking forward to writing post-TB fanfic. (and finishing my WIP haha)
> 
> Brightside? More Pat, Barclay, and Michelle. :)


End file.
